


in the bleak midwinter

by Singofsolace



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Spellwell - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 21:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21022739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singofsolace/pseuds/Singofsolace
Summary: In which Mary Wardwell truly does need to make funeral arrangements, but the timing couldn’t be worse. A blizzard blows in, forcing her to take shelter in the Spellman Mortuary, with only Zelda Spellman to keep her company....Response to the Madam Spellman Fictober Challenge Prompt: Sharing a Bed





	in the bleak midwinter

**Author's Note:**

> Set exactly a year after the events of “A Midwinter’s Tale.” Mary Wardwell has long since been brought back to life, though she still struggles with handling the “amnesia” she suffered. Lilith "made arrangements" to explain Adam Masters' disappearance, which only makes matters more complicated. Zelda is taking a much-needed break from her duties as High Priestess, and has delegated any and all Winter Solstice responsibilities to Elspeth, so that she might observe the holiday in peace. 
> 
> Content Warning: Zelda is suffering from PTSD in this fic; she has nightmares, and there are brief mentions of her marriage, but that is all.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I'd love some feedback on whether or not this was a believable progression of the Spellwell relationship.

Zelda Spellman couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness as she lit the Yule Log. With no one else currently housed under the mortuary roof, and Lilith keen on protecting her High Priestess from any and all harm, she hardly thought it was necessary to carry out this particular tradition. Her lack of enthusiasm for a sacred ritual would’ve made a younger Zelda Spellman furious, but as it happened, Zelda’s piousness had taken a hit since Faustus and Lucifer had so thoroughly abused the strength of her faith. How could she ever blindly trust in anyone or anything again?

Tearing her thoughts away from the past, she whispered the Solstice Blessing to herself with hands raised over the flames. The spell would’ve been stronger if she had another witch to hold her hands as she did it, but needs must when the devil drives.

_“May the log burn, may the wheel turn, may the evil spurn, may the sun return…”_

Not once in her admittedly long life had Zelda ever said the Solstice Blessing alone. It was the job of the head of the household, and so she had watched Edward do it, and their father before him, and their grandfather before _him, _hands clutching her mother’s and Hilda’s with no small amount of awe as the words spun their magical protection around the house. She was the first matriarch in a long line of Spellman men, and held no small amount of pride on that count. But the pride was short-lived tonight, when none of her family was around to feel her love for them power the spell.

No matter how insistent she had been that Hilda spend the holidays with her incubus, she didn’t relish being home alone for the Solstice. Zelda could always request that Sabrina return from her trip to London early, but she knew that the girl was only just beginning to cope with everything she’d been put through by Lucifer to fulfil the prophecy, so any and all selfishness needed to be set aside for the sake of her niece. Ambrose, who had been a steady presence in the mortuary for seventy-five years without fail, was absent as well, still out searching for her bastard of a husband.

So, alone she would remain, getting drunk on eggnog and reading _A Christmas Carol_ to herself, trying not to hear Leticia’s cries echoing through the mortuary as they did a year ago…

Suddenly, there was a light knock on the door. Zelda was hesitant to answer it. Surely, if a member of her congregation needed something, they would call first? It was the Midwinter’s Solstice, for Lilith’s sake. She wasn’t meant to be at the beck and call of the coven; that’s why she had delegated her responsibilities to her mentee, Elspeth. Was it Gryla, seeking revenge for last Solstice? If she was looking for Leticia, she would be sorely disappointed. The poor babe was with her father now, or possibly dead, but Zelda immediately severed such thoughts before she could spiral into an abyss of self-loathing and regret.

Another knock sounded, much louder this time, as if the person outside the door had either grown more confident or more impatient. Zelda sighed, took a long sip from her drink, and placed a piece of tinsel between the pages of her book to mark her place.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” said Zelda, the knocking beginning to grate on her nerves.

Whomever she had expected to darken her doorstep on this holiday, it most certainly wasn’t Mary Wardwell, looking flushed with the cold and quite out of breath.

“Miss Wardwell?” said Zelda, unable to keep herself from staring. Logically, she knew that Lilith’s impersonation of the woman was hardly accurate, but she couldn’t help but think of the first time she saw Lilith-as-Mary in her foyer, wearing an all-leather ensemble, complete with sunglasses, which was a marked difference to the thick wool sweater and long tartan skirt she was currently wearing.

“Miss Spellman, I’m sorry to trouble you this late, but may I come in?” said Mary, her whole body shivering with the winter chill. Zelda peered over the woman’s shoulder, shocked to see that the flurries she had enjoyed watching from the window earlier had been replaced by a howling snowstorm.

“Of course, come in,” said Zelda, stepping back and opening the door completely. “What on earth possessed you to go out in this heavenly weather?”

“I wouldn’t call it heavenly,” said Mary, stomping her boots to keep from tracking the snow through the mortuary. “I had no idea the weather would turn so quickly!”

Zelda inwardly cringed at her choice of words. She’d have to be more careful about how she spoke in Mary’s presence. She might look like the woman Zelda had come to know as an excommunicate of the Church of Shadows, and then as Lilith, but she was not, in fact, a witch.

“How can I help you, Miss Wardwell?” asked Zelda, wanting to get straight to the point. She had had quite a bit to drink, and could feel the brandy buzzing through her veins as she offered to take Miss Wardwell’s sweater, which was heavy with melted snow.

“I’m here to make…funeral arrangements. But now that I’m here, I realize this—this… probably isn’t a good time,” Mary stuttered, struggling to get out of her sweater.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Zelda murmured, helping the poor woman remove the wet wool, though it struck her as far too intimate a gesture for two complete strangers, but then again, she wasn’t about to let the woman flail about the foyer with her arms over her head and her hair stuck in the garment. “But as you’ve said… this isn’t really a good time.”

Mary nodded jerkily. “Right, well, then… I better be going.”

Mary attempted to take the sweater back, but Zelda was already hanging it up.

“Nonsense. Your sweater is soaked through. You’ll catch your death if you go back out there in this state.”

“I really don’t want to impose—”

Zelda shook her head, motioning for Mary to follow her. “What is it they say? ‘’Tis the season’ for giving shelter to weary travelers? I won’t be accused of lacking hospitality.”

With that, Zelda strutted into the living room, not waiting to see if Mary was following her.

“Would you like a drink, Miss Wardwell?” said Zelda, pouring herself a fresh glass of eggnog. “We can toast to your dearly departed.”

“He hardly deserves a toast,” said Miss Wardwell, accepting the drink after a moment’s hesitation.

“Oh?” said Zelda, motioning for Mary to sit down. “You didn’t get along with the deceased?”

“On the contrary, he was my fiancé,” said Mary, taking a long drink from her glass. “I received a note in March, right around the time that I woke up from my…stupor.”

Zelda took a drink to avoid commenting, waiting for Mary to resume her story. Lilith had certainly made a mess of Mary Wardwell’s life, but it wouldn’t do any good for _Mary _to know that.

“It said that he was assigned another trip with Physicians Without Frontiers, and that he didn’t want me to wait around for him.”

“He broke off your engagement…in a_ letter_?” said Zelda, the eggnog suddenly tasting sour in her mouth.

In one of their many one-on-one sessions to discuss the foundation of the new church, Lilith had told Zelda all about Adam Masters, and the horrific experience the Dark Lord had put her through with the mortal. But surely Lilith could’ve come up with a better way to explain his absence…?

“Yes,” said Mary, taking off her glasses to clean them with a handkerchief.

“Then may I ask why you’re organizing a funeral for him?”

Mary wiped away an errant tear before replacing her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “I received a notification a few days ago from his superiors. During his last assignment, he was posted to a war-torn village in the heart of Africa. Apparently, he went missing _months _ago, but it’s company policy to wait a while before contacting the next of kin. He’s presumed dead.”

“So, you want to have a memorial, not a funeral?” said Zelda, nodding solemnly. She’d have to do some high-level witchcraft to wipe the memories of anyone who had seen Adam Masters alive and well during that dreadful mortal holiday—Valentine’s Day. The last thing she needed was some mouthy mortal informing Miss Wardwell that her fiancé had been seen in Greendale during her blackout.

“I don’t know what I want,” said Mary, her voice thick with emotion.

Zelda Spellman had a great deal of experience with grief, but she still felt awkward whenever she was required to comfort a stranger. Still, this woman deserved kindness after everything she had gone through, so Zelda stood from her chair and went to sit beside Mary on the couch.

“That’s perfectly normal,” said Zelda, slowly putting her arm around the woman’s shoulders. “No matter how it ended, he was still your fiancé.”

Mary Wardwell seemed to stiffen at Zelda’s touch for only a moment before she leant into it, putting her face in her hands. For a while they just sat there, Mary quietly crying into her palms, and Zelda patting her soothingly on the back. Once Mary seemed to have gotten a bit more control over her emotions, she looked up at Zelda with tears still in the corner of her eyes.

“Have you ever been engaged, Miss Spellman?”

The question took Zelda so much by surprise that she immediately dropped her hand from Mary’s back, and stood to retrieve her drink. She downed what was left of it before walking to the bar to replenish it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” said Mary, hastily wiping at her tears with the same handkerchief she’d used to clean her glasses.

“It’s not the question I resent,” said Zelda, sighing, as she carried the decanter of eggnog over to Mary, though Mary had hardly finished half of her drink. Ever the good hostess, Zelda refilled it anyway, avoiding Mary’s eyes as she did. “It’s my ex-husband.”

“I didn’t know you were married…?” said Mary, her eyes going wide with this new information. “I could’ve sworn Sabrina told me that her aunts were…”

“Spinsters?” said Zelda, putting the glass decanter down with a bit more force than was strictly necessary.

“I was going to say: ‘unmarried,’” Mary explained, blushing as she did.

Zelda lifted a curious eyebrow as she sat back down in her original seat. “Do you ask all of your students about the status of their parent’s relationships…?”

“No, of course not,” said Mary Wardwell, the red in her cheeks becoming more and more prominent. “It’s just that… well, you’ve always fascinated me, Miss Spellman.”

Zelda could feel warmth pooling in her belly, but blamed it on the brandy. “Oh? And why would that be?”

Mary Wardwell coughed, having taken too large a sip of her drink. “I’m a historian, Miss Spellman. It’s my job to know about the oldest families in Greendale.”

“Does that job include inquiring about the marital status of the remaining Spellmans? How...unusual.”

“I can see I’ve overstepped. I really mustn’t take up anymore of your time. I’m sorry to have intruded,” said Mary, the words all warping together because of the speed with which she said them. In a flash, Mary was out of the living room, headed towards the door.

“Miss Wardwell, wait!” said Zelda, chasing after her. She watched as Mary completely bypassed the closet where her sweater had been hung to dry, opening the door to discover the heavy snowstorm had turned into a veritable whiteout. Mary couldn’t possibly drive in blizzard conditions. “Mary—may I call you Mary? —please, you mustn’t go out in this weather.”

Mary Wardwell seemed to register the blizzard and Zelda’s words at the same moment. She slowly closed the door, avoiding Zelda’s eyes. “I’m sorry to have come during a storm. I didn’t intend to force my presence upon you.”

“There’s no need to apologize, really. I welcome your company. I don’t like to be alone on the Winter Solstice.”

When Mary’s eyes widened, Zelda worried she had given away more than she should have about her traditions, but relief washed over her when Mary began to speak.

“I didn’t even think to ask—where is Sabrina? And…and your sister? Why _are_ you alone?”

Zelda took a deep breath, before turning on her heel. “If we’re going to talk, I’d prefer to be comfortable.”

Settled once more in the living room, Zelda gazed into the fire. “Since you seem interested in our..._status_...Hilda does have someone she’s…sweet on. He has a big family, so she’s spending the holidays with him, getting to know his brothers, nieces, and nephews. Sabrina is traveling. Last I heard, she’s with our extended family in London, having a bit too much fun, if you ask me.”

Mary smiled. “I’m glad to hear Sabrina is enjoying herself. She’s seemed a bit…distracted lately.”

Zelda could hardly tell the woman that the reason for her niece’s distraction was that her boyfriend’s body was currently acting as a prison for Satan, so she just drank in silence, casting a silent spell every now and then to keep the yule log lit through the storm.

“I hope you don’t think this forward of me,” said Mary Wardwell, breaking the silence, “but why aren’t _you _with someone tonight? If you don’t like to be alone?”

_Why indeed?_ thought Zelda. She could’ve spent the night at the Academy, surrounded by her coven, but that would mean going back into the chambers where she had nearly been “christened” by Satan, and then, when she had returned from Rome under the Caligari spell, they had also been the location of several unpleasant scenes of marital duty. She had no such desire to relive those memories.

“I’m not alone,” said Zelda, gesturing with her glass to Mary. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Mary Wardwell’s blue eyes twinkled as she smiled. “I am.”

Zelda picked up her book, showing Mary the cover. “And I have at least two more spirits to get through. Would you like me to read out loud? It’s a bit of a tradition in the Spellman house.”

“I would love that,” said Mary.

Zelda was momentarily struck dumb by the warmth and sincerity in the woman’s voice, but quickly recovered. She began to read, allowing herself to be lost in the story.

“In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see; who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty’s horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door. ‘Come in!’ exclaimed the Ghost. ‘Come in! and know me better, man! … ‘I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,’ said the Spirit. ‘Look upon me!’”

And so, Zelda Spellman read _A Christmas Carol_ to Mary Wardwell, and for a while, both women forgot that if it weren’t for one another, they would be alone. Eventually, the story came to an end, and Zelda had to keep back her tears when she came to the line: “God bless us, everyone.” It wasn’t the same without Sabrina, but she would have to do.

Just then, the old grandfather clock chimed twelve. Mary gasped, unaware that so much time had passed. “I really must be going. Look at the time!”

Zelda nodded, walking to the closet to retrieve Mary’s sweater. “Thank you for dropping by, though I wish it were under better circumstances. I’ll look through the catalogues in the morning and give you a call to see if anything seems fitting for your fiancé.”

“Thank you,” said Mary, holding her sweater close. They could hear the wind howling through the door. Zelda frowned, having thought that the storm would’ve passed by now.

Slowly, she opened the door. She had to do it slowly, because the wind had blown a pile of snow into the door. Zelda gasped at the sight in front of her; the blizzard had gone from bad to worse. There was no visibility beyond the edge of the stairs.

“Well, that settles that,” said Zelda, closing the door once more.

“Settles what?” said Mary, nervously.

“You’re staying at the mortuary tonight,” said Zelda, heading towards the stairs.

“I couldn’t possibly,” said Mary, the pitch of her voice going high up into her head.

“You ‘couldn’t possibly’ drive in this weather, and it’s past midnight. I’m not about to turn you out into the cold.”

Zelda began to climb the stairs, but paused when she felt a hand grab her elbow.

“Really, Miss Spellman, I would never want to impose in this way.”

“It’s not an imposition. There are plenty of empty beds. I’ll find you something to sleep in, and set you up in Hilda’s room.”

With that, Zelda peeled Mary’s fingers off of her elbow and carried on up the stairs. Mary had no choice but to follow, her mouth hanging slightly open, as if she still couldn’t believe what was happening.

* * *

After thanking Zelda an absurd number of times for her kindness and hospitality, Mary settled into Hilda’s room, which looked more like a guest room than anything else. Mary wondered if Hilda was simply uninterested in personal touches, or if the room wasn’t hers, after all, but she didn’t think it wise to ask such an impertinent question.

Zelda had bid her goodnight nearly an hour ago, having handed Mary a nightgown that looked far too demure for Zelda’s tastes. Since then, Mary hadn’t been able to calm her nerves enough to sleep. The clothes she was wearing smelled vaguely of roses and cigarettes. She couldn’t believe she was sleeping in the Spellman Mortuary, wearing Zelda’s nightgown. When she left her cottage early in the evening, there could’ve been no predicting her current situation.

As happy as she was to not have to brave the storm in order to go home, Mary still felt as if it would’ve been better if she had left. She couldn’t stop thinking of the way Zelda’s whole body had changed at the mention of her ex-husband. Her eyes had gone dark and her demeanor became icy cold, whereas before, Zelda had been running her hand up and down Mary’s back in a soothing motion, gentle and warm as a mother comforting her child. She had said something wrong, she just knew it, but Mary hadn't a clue _why_ it was wrong.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the air. Mary was up and out of bed in an instant, knowing that it could only have been Zelda who cried out. Grabbing a robe off the back of a chair, she threw it on over her nightgown, not caring that it was at least four sizes too big. Mary followed the screaming all the way down the hall, before she stopped in front of what she had to assume would be Zelda’s door.

Mary felt completely at a loss. Should she go in? Would Zelda _want_ her to go in? She could hear no sounds of a struggle, so Mary assumed the woman was just having a terrible nightmare. Opening the door seemed like an incredibly invasive thing to do, so Mary was just about to turn around and go back to her own room when she heard the screams turn into sobs. Surely, that meant Zelda was awake?

Steeling herself, Mary knocked on the door. The only answer was another round of screaming.

“Zelda? Zelda! May I come in?”

Mary listened carefully for an answer, but none came. Slowly, Mary opened the door.

There were two beds in the room, which surprised Mary. Zelda was in the one farthest from the door, tossing and turning as if she were trying to escape from something.

Mary carefully made her way to the bed, taking in the pained expression on Zelda’s face, and how her skin was slicked with sweat.

“Zelda? Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

Zelda whimpered, turning away from Mary’s voice. “Kill me, please, just let me die!”

Mary’s eyes went wide. “What!?”

“No, no! No more! _No more_!” moaned Zelda.

Mary moved closer, placing her hand tentatively on Zelda’s arm, which was trapped beneath the blankets. “Zelda? Please, wake up.”

But Zelda made no sign that she even knew Mary was there, and let out another piercing scream that ended in a howl of pain.

“Stop the music! Stop! Stop! Stop!”

Mary could feel tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Not knowing what else to do, she grabbed Zelda by the shoulders and shook. “Zelda, wake _up_!”

Zelda opened her eyes, but didn’t immediately register Mary’s presence. Her stare was vacant and unseeing.

“Zelda? Are you alright?”

Mary sensed the moment Zelda registered someone else was in the room. She scrambled out from under the covers, panic in her eyes as she sat up.

“Zelda, it’s okay. You’re okay. It was only a nightmare.”

Zelda was breathing heavily, her heart beating in her throat. “Lilith?”

Mary Wardwell looked at her in confusion. “No. My name is Mary. You had a nightmare, Zelda.”

Slowly, Zelda seemed to come back to herself. Recognition finally dawned in her eyes. “Miss Wardwell. I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. I haven’t been able to sleep,” said Mary, taking the blanket that Zelda had kicked off of the bed and replacing it.

“Well, I’m sorry for disturbing you, in any case,” said Zelda, running a shaking hand through her hair. “I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“You can’t help having a nightmare,” said Mary, shrugging. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No,” insisted Zelda, her voice hoarse. “No, thank you, Mary. I’m fine now. You can go back to sleep.”

Mary looked at the woman, still wound tight as a spring, panting as if she had run a marathon.

“To tell you the truth, I have trouble sleeping in beds that aren’t my own,” said Mary, and it wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was mostly for Zelda’s sake. She didn’t want Zelda to think that she had ruined any chance of her sleeping.

“Well, I can understand that,” said Zelda, her eyes still a bit wild. “But really, I’d prefer to be alone right now.”

“Really?” said Mary, unable to keep the worry from her voice. “I hate being alone after a nightmare.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” said Zelda, her voice so quiet, Mary had trouble hearing it.

“Then what was it?” said Mary, sitting down at the foot of the bed.

“A memory,” said Zelda, staring at the ceiling, blinking back tears with a look of pain on her face. Mary felt as if a fist had closed around her heart.

“Well, I know you’ve said you’d rather not talk about it, so I won’t ask… but would it be okay if I slept in here?”

Zelda’s eyes snapped to Mary’s immediately. “You want to sleep…here?”

Mary could feel her cheeks grow hot. “I don’t mean _here_, here, but in the other bed,” Mary said, gesturing to the second, unoccupied bed. “Unless…” she let her words trail off, not daring to voice her thoughts.

“Yes?” prodded Zelda, her breathing starting to even out.

“Unless…you’d like someone to hold you? I mean—I don’t mean to overstep—I just mean—when I was little, I could never go back to sleep after a nightmare unless…”

“Someone held you?” finished Zelda, pressing a hand into her chest, as if to calm her heart.

“…Yes,” said Mary, feeling silly for bringing it up.

“Fine,” said Zelda, moving over so that Mary had room.

“Fine?” repeated Mary, baffled by this sudden capitulation.

“If holding someone would help you sleep, I am happy to oblige,” said Zelda, her eyes darting to the side as she gripped the blanket in her hands. “Unless, of course, it would make you uncomfortable…?”

Mary just sat there, blinking, before shrugging out of Hilda’s robe (at least, she assumed it was Hilda’s). She laid it across the other bed, taking a moment to get her bearings, before she returned to Zelda’s bed. Ever so slowly, she slipped beneath the covers.

For a while, they laid there, not daring to touch. Mary stared up at the ceiling, thinking of all the moments that had led up to this point, and wondering if she should have done anything differently. Eventually, Mary felt a tug on the fabric of her nightgown. It was very light—she could hardly feel it—but it was there. She looked over to Zelda, whose eyes were strangely bright in the darkness of the room.

“Would you…?”

Mary didn’t need to be asked twice. Careful not to move too quickly, as if one sudden movement might spook her companion, she reached out and took Zelda in her arms.

“Is this okay?” Mary said, feeling Zelda’s head snuggle into her chest.

“Yes,” said Zelda, her voice muffled. “Thank you.”

Eventually, Mary heard Zelda’s breathing deepen, as if in sleep. While she worried how Zelda would take this familiarity in the morning, for the moment, she relished the closeness. She had been touch-starved for years, and couldn’t articulate how good it felt to have someone in her arms again.

Placing a chaste kiss to the top of Zelda’s head, Mary said, “Sleep well, Zelda.”


End file.
